Page 102 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

HARRIET FISHER

W e didn’t exactly bomb the presentation, but it definitely did not go as planned. The uproar and commotion each time Xander spoke caused the professor to stop us. Girls wept. They were physically trembling as if Xander was talking solely to them. Some went into shock.

I’ve never seen anything like it up close.

Our professor either took pity on us or didn’t have the time for us to present privately without the mayhem—because he just gave us an automatic one hundred.

Xander keeps apologizing as we walk to the dining hall for lunch. Easton is also with us.

I tell him the truth. I couldn’t be happier that we only had to be up there for five minutes tops. No way would I complain about an easy A. Especially in a humanities course. There are enough hard-earned ones in my schedule.

On our trek across the chilly campus, leaves falling, I’m distracted by Donnelly. Xander’s bodyguard speaks into his mic more often now that Ben is MIA. He’s on comms seemingly all the time, and whenever he catches me staring, he’ll shake his head at me like, no new news.

No Ben.

My phone buzzes, and I check the text.

Tom

I sent the packet to you. Let me know what else you need. I can email you what I think the proposed tour schedule would be.

Harriet

Def send that.

I told Tom if I were to seriously consider his offer then he needed to seriously give me all the information. Contracts, people I’d be working with—producers, managers, whoever. I want details.

He’s surprisingly followed through in epic fashion. For a chaos-maker, he is incredibly detail-oriented and organized.

Tom

Will do, Harry.

My phone vibrates again. This time a phone call from an unknown number. I stop abruptly, wind nipping my face.

Xander turns back around. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah, someone’s calling me. It’s an unknown number.”

Xander looks to Donnelly, who wears just as much confusion as me.

I wrack my brain for who it could be. “It might be spam.”

“What if it’s Ben?” Xander says, more hopefully.

“Or maybe it’s Guy Abernathy,” Easton says, popping his coat collar as more cold air blows through the wind tunnel in the quad.

“We still don’t know who’s made the Honors House.

” Easton is in the top five, still in contention like me.

With the semester ending, they should be whittling five down to one.

It’s nuts they’ve even taken this long to choose a new member.

It’s likely the House is split on who to pick. Maybe they’ve finally decided, and it’s not me.

I prepare for a rejection, since that seems more likely than Ben calling. And I answer on the last ring.

“Harriet Fisher?” It’s a very unfamiliar, deep male voice.

Not Guy.

Not Ben.

“Yes?”

“Hi, I’m Gordon Brown. Ben Cobalt’s estate attorney. If I could have a moment of your time, I need you to come down to my office and sign some paperwork.”

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.

I don’t fucking understand. I’ve said it three times to Gordon, and he’s tried to explain it to me in three different ways. I could blame bad cell reception if we weren’t having this conversation in person.

I left campus and told Xander I’d fill him in later. Now I’m currently sitting in this lawyer dude’s stately office in Midtown, a pen, documents, and legal pad laid out on the desk before me.

“Let me just say it back to make sure I have this correct,” I tell him, my hands hovering over the cherry oak desk.

“Ben Pirrip Cobalt, your client, made me , Harriet Stevie Fisher, the sole beneficiary of an irrevocable trust that contains… this …amount of money.” I tap the legal pad with a number written down.

It’s not a microscopic number.

It’s not even a small number.

It is massive.

A staggering amount. More than my eyes can truly grasp. Gordon had to write it down because I couldn’t believe it without seeing the numbers.

It’s millions.

“All yes,” Gordon confirms.

My eyes burn. I think I’ve blinked twice since I sat down. “Is this all of Ben’s money? He emptied his bank accounts and put everything in this trust?” For me?

Gordon sighs heavily. “Yes. I did tell him he needed to consult a financial advisor before making this move, but he was incredibly persistent.”

I clutch the sides of my head. Wishing I called his brothers or his parents to come with me, so they could process this too. Because everything about this doesn’t feel right.

I wince. “I don’t accept.” I push the legal pad, documents, and pen away from me.

Gordon exhales even deeper. “I’m afraid it doesn’t matter whether you accept or not. The money is still in this trust. It’s going to sit here if you don’t use it.”

My stomach churns thinking about all the ways I could use the money. Rent for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t even need free housing from the Honors House. Medical school, paid for. If I go that route. My future, funded. But it feels so wrong. So terribly wrong.

All of this.

Gordon pushes a box of tissues toward me, then retracts. Am I in threat of crying? Or do I look like I might bite his head off? “Once you sign, you’ll be able to access the trust on January 1 st . You will have full access. No rules or stipulations. That’s how Ben set it up.”

Ben set it up.

What about all the months Ben was broke? Was his money tied up in this trust the entire time? Waiting for me?

This…this isn’t making sense.

“I don’t understand,” I say, which makes Gordon huff out another deep sigh.

“No, I understand how the trust works. I don’t understand the timing.

Ben told me he was already broke at the beginning of the semester when I ran into him at a frat party.

We’d barely spoken before that—so when did he set this up? ”

Gordon swivels to his computer and scrolls until he stalls on a document. “His first meeting with me was…in the middle of May.”

I blow backward. “ No .”

That means he made the decision to give me his money before the frat party. When we’d only run into each other a couple of times. Like at Penn. The science lab.

“Hold on,” Gordon lifts a finger for me to wait.

“I did put a note in his file. I thought it was strange too and wanted to keep some sort of record in case of litigation.” He reads from his computer.

“ I asked Ben how well he knew Harriet Fisher, and he told me, I know she’s a good person.

Also asked why he was giving her so much.

He told me, I don’t need it where I’m going. ”

My eyes well. “May?” I ask again. “You said May ?”

“Yes, mid-May.”

Oh fuck. “Can I make a call?” I ask Gordon.

“Of course. I’ll give you a minute.” He steps out, and I dial Beckett, hoping he’s available. Please, please, please.

“Harriet,” he answers on the third ring. “Everything good?”

“No, I’m at this lawyer’s office. I’ll explain in a second, but do you know when Ben assaulted that asshole who lives in your family’s gated neighborhood?”

“Tate Townsend? That was back in May.”

I go very still. Wide-eyed.

Ben was going to leave his family right then. He must’ve set up this “irrevocable” trust soon afterward. Dumped his money since he wouldn’t need it anymore.

But he didn’t end up in the woods or wilderness—or wherever he is now—back in May. He transferred to Manhattan Valley University.

Ben always said he never intended to be in New York. That it took convincing.

It was never part of his plan.

It’s why he showed up broke.

His brothers unknowingly changed his path. Then Ben spent more time with me, and he kept delaying and delaying the date to leave. Until at one point, he considered staying.

Then Audrey…the frat…it pushed him to finish what he had orchestrated.

His original plan.

Give me all his money. A girl he knew needed the cash. A girl he thought had a good heart.

Then he’d disappear into the woods. Never to be found again.